The boy who was loved
by neska-polita
Summary: The Dursleys took Harry in and loved him like their own son - still, they are the Dursleys. With a medieval understanding of magic, they're truly concerned about their nephew when the letter from Hogwarts shows up. Harry must choose, to betray the only family he's ever known or follow his own calling.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: What if... the Dursleys had been nice to Harry? What if leaving them for Hogwarts wasn't a relief but treason? This story explores how Harry faces the dilemma of being loyal to the only family he's ever known, the one that has been with him through thick and thin, or Hogwarts and the magical world. What is he to do?_

_My first attempt at HP fanfic, ever, and I admit not being a great reader of the archive so... my apologies if this idea has been done before. All your comments are welcome!_

_This Privet Drive is more like a suburb in Connecticut than a real English town. Sorry about that. _

_I do not have my stories betaread by anyone. I publish them and then correct them and update them with comments, or as I read them again and spot inconsistencies. Feel free to point out spelling, grammar or plot mistakes._

_Thank you for reading me, n-p_

* * *

Life in Privet Drive was quiet and normal, as usual. The sun shone over the well manicured gardens, the gleaming two year old SUVs parked in the driveways, the two-and-one-third children families. Everything lined, in perfect order, right by the book. One would believe, and wouldn't be too far off actually, that birds and dogs didn't dare to poop outside designated areas.

Inside the homes, however, things were as normal as they can be. Nobody truly spoke of it, but everyone knew that Ms. Figgs had a leaky rooftop, and we're not talking about real estate here. And that the Joneses had started out as a teenaged middle daughter running away with a milkman, and then there was that weird adopted kid living with the Dursleys, Harry.

But as it was, nobody would have dared to mention this to their face. Yes, Harry was thin as a twig and his hair seemed to have declared war on all combs, and there was the little thing that his parents had died and he didn't remember them, but all things considered, he was one happy boy. Because Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, perhaps not the brightest people on the surface of the Earth but nice enough people, had taken him in right after the accident, had raised him along with their son Dudley and had been one true family to him. No, people wouldn't dare to laugh at Harry or they'd meet with Dudley's fists, or the older Dursleys' knitted brows and squinting, gleaming eyes.

No, Harry couldn't complain and he never did, as Aunt Petunia was quite doting on both her son and nephew and that would have been terribly unfair. Dudley (quite surprisingly, in Harry's view) was very fond of sports equipment and he would always receive something new and shiny, either for his birthday, Christmas, first day of holidays, solstice, or just because. Harry wasn't too interested in stuff, but he had dearly wanted to have the nook under the stairs for his and his alone. It had been quite the negotiation with the Dursleys, as Harry did have a room for himself (the smallest one upstairs, true, but sunny and decently sized nonetheless) and that space was being used for storage, but Harry had accommodated everything under his bed and Petunia had relented. Harry still wasn't sure how he had managed to put all the camping gear, plus all the winter jackets, boots and ski gear, plus Uncle Vernon's toolbox of toolboxes, eight years worth of school artwork and a big box containing Aunt Petunia's wedding dress in such a small place, not even how he had managed to carry it all upstairs in less than five minutes, but he tried not to linger too much on it.

Because Harry's life was full of such little things, odd wee things that made him feel like an outsider, no matter how many fancy clothes Aunt Petunia got him or the belching contests with his uncle and cousin (in which he had no chance but was always welcome). And from time to time a feeling of strangeness, of inexplicable uneasiness, would flood him, and like a person waking up from a very deep slumber he would feel like there was something quite important he should know but couldn't remember, couldn't get a hold on. Harry would never share these thoughts with anyone, least of all the Dursleys, because he knew they wouldn't like it.

Although he didn't know exactly why.

oo0oo

Only after many things happened did Harry realize that some normal things in Privet Drive every day life weren't normal at all. One was that Petunia and Vernon closely screened everything that was watched or read by the members of the family, and quite covertly too. Sports and news were fine, as was war and historical fiction, but _fantasy_ seemed to be beyond limits. At first Harry and Dudley would conjecture there was something naughty about it, or terribly inappropriate and were quite puzzled, disappointed even, when would watch some forbidden films at some friend's house. Thing was, if it had witches in it, flying animals that were not birds, or the merest hint at magic, then the Dursleys wouldn't like it. Lord of the Rings was so high in all lists of no-no's that even its title was forbidden.

Other peculiarity happened always at the end of October: they were almost always on a trip somewhere far, or a sad event was remembered, or just by chance someone was ill and thus the boys had never, ever, gone trick-or-treat'ing in their lives. Hallowe'en was something other people did, like going to Mass every Sunday or ice fishing in winter. Not wrong in itself, but foreign to them.

It later sort of made sense, but as I said, several things had to happen before Harry could understand any of this.

oo0oo

Harry didn't know much about his parents. His mother had been Petunia's sister, and her name was Lily. His father's name was James and his family was from Scotland, or so Uncle Vern said once. The Dursleys had met James only briefly (like, just once) and hadn't met with any other member of the Potter family, and Petunia and Lily hadn't been close so there wasn't much to be said. James and Lily had attended classes together somewhere, and from the scarce available information Harry had gleamed that they were probably jobless English majors, which was as far as he could think from what Vernon and Petunia would approve of. There were no assets to Harry's name, no house or valuable object or bank account, which reinforced the notion of his parents being quite the hipsters. Petunia's own parents were quite elderly and lived in an assisted living facility, and though Harry literally died for asking them about Lily and James, the few times they visited it didn't seem correct. Petunia said they might not remember them, as they routinely forgot about Dudley and Harry, but Harry suspected they might get irremediably sad.

Harry had made a decision, though. One day, perhaps not today or tomorrow, but soon enough, he would set out to find out more about his parents. When he were older and in charge of his own life, and in the meantime, he would work on making the Dursleys to be alright with that.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hey! Thank you so much for stopping by, and particularly to old friend Bonbonnett who also broke the ice and left a review! This is surely not going to be the most exciting story ever, but I wanted to put Harry in a personal dilemma rather than have him have adventures. I hope you enjoy this journey too, and I'm all ears to your comments!_

* * *

The moon reigned supreme among a sea of glittering stars and he could always see it in the patches of night sky over the treetops. There was a cool breeze but Harry wasn't cold, and he kept his leisurely promenade in the woods at night. Everything felt familiar and comforting, and while Harry knew the closest he had ever been to the woods was a botanical garden in daylight, he wasn't afraid.

He could hear the night creatures going about their nightly lives, running and perching and creeping upon the branches, hooting, screeching, squeaking. The trees responded by softly flapping their leafs in the wind. Everything was calm and pleasant. He wished he could take night walks more often.

That changed, all of a sudden. Something that wasn't there before, something threatening and dangerous rose from the earth somewhere in his proximity. Fear shook the leafs and the noises from the animals turned nervous, hysterical in Harry's ears. But they didn't cover the rumble that soon became a laugh, a cold and cruel laugh that chilled the blood in his veins. The woods faded and it was just him and the laughing creature.

And then, it came. The green lightning aiming at him, not from the sky but from something at his level.

oo0oo

Harry woke up with a start and rubbed his forehead, his little bolt shaped scar that now, he could almost swear, hurt. He was in his bed, at the Dursley's home in Privet Drive. His watch marked 2:27 AM. Outside his window, an anemic waning moon was barely noticeable among all the clouds. He fell back onto his back and attempted to ease his breathing and the mad beating of his heart. Eventually he slipped back into sleep, though this time it felt more like falling into a deep black well of tar.

oo0oo

The smooth and carefully planned transition into letting Petunia and Vernon know that he intended to learn more about his parents was not meant to be, however.

A letter arrived for Harry right on his twelfth birthday, and in spite of Vernon and Petunia's efforts to intercept it, it did reach Harry. The Dursleys' efforts were so worthy of mention and description that one night, an incredibly large man wearing a coat of fur showed up and handed the letter to Harry in person. No matter how large Vernon Dursley was, this man, Hagrid was his name, was larger and more intimidating. But that was of little consequence.

What matters is that this is how Harry Potter found out that he was a wizard, and a good one at that. Because he had been accepted to a school of magic he didn't know it existed and had obviously never applied to, a place his parents had attended before him; James and Lily Potter, who didn't die in a car accident as he had been told, but had been murdered by an evil wizard one night when Harry was just one year old. What is more, not only had he been present then but he had been harmed too, and this is how he got that scar in his forehead in the first place.

It was quite a lot to digest. Many things started to make sense - so this was why sometimes amazing things happened - like when he had wanted so badly to have the alcove under the stairs that he had made everything fit under his bed. Oh, right. Or like the time when someone who was bothering Dudley had ended up on top of a chimney. Oh, no. Or... But this was interrupted by another thought. So this was why anything related to witchcraft and wizardry was a taboo at the Dursley home.

Because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon knew.

Harry's eyes went to his guardians; his uncle was side hugging his aunt, her face of horror, Harry understood now, was not so much for the stranger's enormous boots staining the carpet with unnameable fluids but for him, because in spite of all of her and Vernon's efforts, he was full of magic and was going to leave them. Or was he?

oo0oo

Harry had been aware for a long time that his adoptive family's members, to whom he was a close blood relation, were not exactly bright. Most of the time it meant that they were superficial and a little foolish, but sometimes that made them ignorant and rude. They behaved terribly with the newcomer, who soon demonstrated to know more about Harry than Harry did himself.

In spite of every misgiving he knew he should have had he found himself warming up to the stranger very quickly. Probably during the first fifteen minutes of their acquaintance or so, and he understood that this very furry man had surely met his parents and would be better inclined to answer his questions than the Dursleys.

Before the door opened to let him in Harry would have chosen to stay, with eyes closed and no more questions. But this certainty faltered as another one grew inside of him. This is was the first step to find something akin to the truth, to the person he really was and had nothing to do with Privet Drive. This was on his mind until he met Uncle Vernon's eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you for stopping by, to all 6 readers marking this story as favorite and/or subscribing for updates, and very particularly especially to Bonbonnet and hreft93 for the reviews!  
_

_I think this is the last chapter of this very small story. I feel it should end here, but if you feel it to be badly explained or abrupt, let me know it and I'll try to work it out. This is mostly a writing experiment and I'm not trying to add anything to canon, I just wanted to explore a "what if" (very logical if we consider Harry's complete emotional and mental sanity)._

_So long and thanks for all the fish! n-p_

* * *

When Harry and Dudley were seven they were placed in different classes at school. It was the first time in their short lives that they didn't share mates, although they could naturally meet at recess or lunch time.

It was also the first time Harry kept a secret from his cousin. There was a girl in Harry's class he thought of as lovely.

Her name was Virginia (he once heard her mother calling her Gina, and secretly delighted in saying the name when he was alone in the alcove under the stairs), and her hair was straw blond, with a certain reddish glimmer when the sun kissed it so. She was shy, and so was he, but one day they were matched to read together and her barely noticeable lisp was music in his ears.

Shortly after that glorious day in Harry's life Virginia stopped coming to school, and he didn't know what had happened to her until Uncle Vernon found out for him. It was not in Vernon Dursley to set about finding things about his stepson's classmates' parents' businesses at all, but seeing Harry's state of complete despair he had decided to inquire discreetly.

The reason was quite simple: Virginia's father had been relocated by his employer quite abruptly and the family had followed him. Harry had been heartbroken with all the might of his seven year-old soul, but had been thankful his uncle had relieved him from the fear they had died in an accident like his own parents had.

oo0oo

This Hagrid person had left almost two days ago and Harry was feeling in his own body what antsy truly means. He didn't seem able to sit still, or to keep a train of thought for more than a few ideas, or even, to eat a whole bowl of oats. And he wasn't the only one.

Everyone at the Dursley household was behaving very strangely. Aunt Petunia was very quiet and forgot to water her beloved flowers so they wilted in the summer heat. Uncle Vernon misplaced his desk calculator and was lost without it. Dudley didn't seem excited about going to Smeltings anymore, his father's former school had, dare he think, magically lost its appeal. A heavy silence hung over their conversations, hushed steps would go up and down the stairs, a willingness to avoid eye contact seemed to rule the once the very functional and happy family.

Harry didn't know what to think of it. In reality, he didn't quite understand anything at all. So he had been accepted to this very strange school, but without any money and his guardians' consent where was the issue? It was a short lived dream, like a butterfly or a daisy. You think they're nice, but you can't really count on them for very long, can you?

oo0oo

Aunt Petunia left, the dishes done and everything quite tidy, to put on her pink curlers in the bedroom she shared with her husband. Dudley was already in his room, watching mind-numbing TV. Harry was downstairs looking for a book and Vernon, truth be acknowledged, hoping to bump into his stepson. Given Vernon Dursley's anatomy this was quite likely to happen at almost any time.

Harry thought, at first, that his uncle would keep ignoring him and he'd be reading one more chapter before dozing off that night. But his uncle thought differently.

-"So, Harry, school...", Vernon began almost casually.

-"What with it?", replied Harry. It came out sounding more belligerent than he felt or intended, and Uncle Vernon's brow showed how much it did. In great quantities, actually.

-"What do you want to do?", he almost barked in his customary tone.

-"What does it matter?", Harry shot back. "You and Petunia won't let me go regardless of what I want, so why bother?"

-"It matters, Harry, it matters a lot", Vernon sighed and for the first time Harry found a little thread of vulnerability in otherwise bigger than life and things Vernon Dursley. He didn't say anything waiting for his uncle to clarify himself. He did. "Harry, your aunt and I can't go against your decision in this matter, you know?"

He didn't know, but he simply jutted his chin in hopes of looking if not intimidating, at least not intimidated.

-"But you don't want me to go", he insisted.

-"Harry, what they do is dangerous!" Vernon's face was becoming red, which wasn't unusual. "It killed your parents... Harry, if you were going to experiment with drugs what should we, your guardians, do? Just look from the sidelines as you injure yourself, or should we step in as early as we can?"

-"Is it the same thing?", Harry asked in a thin voice.

-"For all practical purposes it is, Harry. It is." Uncle Vernon said these words without looking at Harry. His eyes were on the family picture on the mantel, and Harry was stabbed with the feeling that his uncle was not trying to protect him but the picture perfect family he had created. "It will break your aunt's heart. She has given you so much, and you can't forget that."

-"And I won't!", Harry became agitated. "I'm very thankful for everything you've done for me, Uncle Vernon, but I don't owe you my life. And you don't own my life, either!"

Vernon Dursley's face became rigid. He seemed to fight hard to regain some measure of calmness, or at least, to make his heart beat not so fast.

-"You don't have to be a weirdo like your parents, you silly boy. You can study in a serious school become a useful member of society! That's how you can right what your parents did wrong, that's what we've worked so hard for with you, Harry!"

It was too much for Harry. He felt manipulated and the precious little memory of his parents (created rather from hopes and dreams than solid facts, but still very true), stomped over by Uncle Dursley's size 15 shoe. And that's what made up his mind, while his uncle vociferated and gesticulated like a doll with a mad puppeteer, he promised to himself and the memory of his parents that he would go to that Howard's school (or whatever the name was), and he would find about them, and most importantly, about himself.

oo0oo

Aunt Petunia seemed so disgusted that Harry believed she would never talk to him again. Her horse like facial features contracted all the time as if something in her proximity were smelling afoul. Dudley suddenly become quite sour and mean to him, the full extent of his stupidity exhibited for the world to see, and his Uncle treated him like a dog. And he didn't have clothes or even a trunk, or nothing that would matter (not even money!), but he had a feeling that things would work themselves out, somehow.

Because maybe, after all, magic was real.


End file.
